Eight memories for woodwind quintet: about the train ride to the beach every summer, a story about a cow who wanted to learn to write to become famous, a glass window inside a chapel, about the land’s changes in September, a different poppy that calls out, a changing woman, near dinnertime in summer, a relentless pilgrim who travels the Camino de Santiago
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|A green train chugs along,|
From city to coast, its journey long,
Thirty kilometers of tracks to roam,
From inland hills to the seaside foam.
|Passengers board with beach-bound glee,|
Excited chatter and children’s glee,
As the train snakes through a sunny wood,
The view outside is simply good.
|A cow who longed to write,|
to share her stories bright,
with a world that didn’t know
the tales within her soul.
|She’d watch the humans scribble,|
their pens and pencils dribble,
words and phrases forming
to tell of love and storming.
|The ancient church stands tall and proud,|
Its walls so thick, its stones endowed
With centuries of history and lore,
It stands as a testament to something more.
|A stained-glass window catches the light,|
A rainbow of colors, a beautiful sight,
The sunbeams streaming through the panes,
Dancing on the worn-out stones and stains.
|September comes, summer’s end draws near|
Colors shift, and autumn’s hues appear
The sun still shines, but with a cooler breeze
A hint of change is felt among the trees
|The sky seems bluer, the clouds more white|
As summer fades into the waning light
The fields and meadows take on a golden glow
As the harvest season begins to show
|A poppy blue, rare and true,|
Stands amidst a field of red,
A sight that is both strange and new,
A wonder that fills my head.
|A flower of blue, so bold and bright,|
Against the green it stands in might,
A symbol of hope in a sea of red,
A mystery that fills me with dread.
|Marijo, a woman of 20 years old,|
Has a heart of gold, or so she’s told,
But her temper flares up like a raging storm,
Leaving others to feel quite forlorn.
|She’s impulsive and unpredictable too,|
With mood swings that come out of the blue,
One moment she’s happy, the next she’s mad,
It’s hard to know which Marijo we’ll have.
|I’m here, waiting for you|
As the time ticks slowly by
It’s been so long since we last met
And I can’t help but wonder why
|The sky turns dark, the stars appear|
And still I wait alone
My heart beats fast with every step
That echoes like a stone
|An tireless pilgrim walks the Camino,|
Each autumn he begins his journey,
He doesn’t pray nor is he religious,
But the path and its people bring him glory.
|He starts his trek from the Pyrenees,|
And walks for days through the dusty plains,
He’s joined by others on this pilgrimage,
Sharing tales and laughter to ease the pains.